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Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
What fav'rites gain, and what the nation owes,
Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.

The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier's learning, policy o' th' gown,
And best by thee express'd, and shine in thee alone.

The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry,
Lord's quibble, critic's jest, all end in thee;
All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.



THOUGH Artemisia talks, by fits,
Of counsels, classics, fathers, wits;
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke;
Yet in some things methinks she fails:
'Twere well if she would pare her nails,
And wear a cleaner smock.

Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such nastiness, and so much pride,
Are oddly join'd by Fate:

On her large squab you find her spread,
Like a fat corpse upon a bed,

That lies and stinks in state.

She wears no colors (sign of grace)
On any part except her face,
All white and black beside :
Dauntless her look, her gesture proud,
Her voice theatrically loud,

And masculine her stride.

So have I seen, in black and white,
A prating thing, a magpie hight,
Majestically stalk;

A stately worthless animal,

That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk.


PHRYNE had talents for mankind;
Open she was, and unconfin'd,
Like some free port of trade :

Merchants unloaded here their freight, from each foreign state,

And agents

Here first their entry made.

Her learning and good breeding such, Whether th' Italian, or the Dutch, Spaniards, or French, came to her, To all obliging she'd appear: 'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer, 'Twas Sil vous plait, Monsieur.

Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes,
Still changing names, religions, climes,
At length she turns a bride:

In di'monds, pearls, and rich brocades,
She shines the first of batter'd jades,
And flutters in her pride.

So have I known those insects fair
(Which curious Germans hold so rare)
Still vary shapes and dyes ;

Still gain new titles with new forms;
First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms,
Then painted butterflies.


The happy Life of a Country Parson.

PARSON, these things in thy possessing
Are better than the bishop's blessing:
A wife that makes conserves; a steed
That carries double when there's need;
October store, and best Virginia,
Tythe pig, and mortuary guinea;
Gazettes sent gratis down and frank'd,
For which thy patron's weekly thank'd ;
A large concordance, bound long since ;
Sermons to Charles the First, 'when prince;
A chronicle of ancient standing;

A Chrysostom to smooth thy band in;

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The Polyglot-three parts,-my text,
Howbeit,-likewise-now to my next :
Lo here the Septuagint, and Paul,
To sum the whole, the close of all.
He that has these may pass his life,
Drink with the 'squire, and kiss his wife;
On Sundays preach, and eat his fill,
And fast on Fridays—if he will;
Toast Church and Queen, explain the news,
Talk with churchwardens about pews,
Pray heartily for some new gift,

And shake his head at Doctor S-t.





To the first Publication of this Epistle.

THIS paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begun

many years since, and drawn up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of rank and fortune [the authors of Verses to the Imitator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at HamptonCourt] to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings, (of which, being public, the public is judge,) but my person, morals, and family, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between the necessity to say something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake so awkward a task, I thought it the shortest way to put the last hand to this Epistle. If it have any thing pleasing, it will be that by which I am most desirous to please, the truth, and the sentiment; and if any thing offensive, it will be only to those I am least sorry to offend, the vicious or the


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